Blue Blood
by lost0and0found
Summary: The King took her and made her Queen. He followed. A historical romance featuring a King, a Queen, and a Chronicler in between. When their kingdom is at stake, they have to choose between helping and destroying each other. Medieval Lit. AU.
1. Chapter 1

** ~ _Prologue_ ~**

**Blue blood. Helps one recognize true greatness, doesn't it? Each story is, in the end, sealed with it. Yet, few people know that there are places where blue blood is kept. Years and years, waiting to be used. In glass vials, cauldrons, bottles of all size, placed carefully over shelves or lying forgotten under dusty racks with all kind of other old stuff, it's there - dark blue, thick and glazed. Waiting patiently to be spilled. Because blue blood is, in fact, ink.**

**Words. History is all words. Our memories are words, clothed in images. We die. The words live. And while simple blood is to be forgotten, blue blood is sure to be remembered. Because when everything else is gone, words stay.**

**As to the story that will follow, all you need to know is someone, somewhere wrote those exact words...**

* * *

_**~ There Is Always A Conspiracy ~**_

There were candles that lit the Queen's boudoirs every night. She liked the way their glow softened furniture outlines, the way each her movement caused a shift in the air.

Late at night, when everybody in the kingdom, including the guards under her window, were asleep, she cast the heavy bed covers away, braided her long hazel hair and headed towards the antique bookshelf in the distant part of the boudoir. And there, while flipping through the worn pages of another dog-eared book, she was finally home again.

Lazy afternoons by the river Earl with the sun setting pompously between the long reaching hands of the willows. Early mornings with the scent of oncoming summer. Life tasted a lot like a promise. This was a long, long time ago. The rays that used to cradle her girlish dreams seemed to be part of someone else's life now.

The Queen left the book in her lap and looked up at the tiny sleeping figure in the crib. The future king was sleeping. She reached one hand to stroke his hair and smiled.

_Funny thing_, she thought, most people were simply born... people, while her son was born a _king_.

'Your husband has gone completely nuts,' a low male voice commented behind her back.

The Queen's lips curved up into a wider smile. She stood up from her armchair and put the book down in the crib.

'Hey, Jess,' she greeted before fully facing him.

The young man lazily bumped himself off the balcony doorframe he had been leaning against, and headed towards the inside of the boudoir without hurrying. The Queen followed.

Jess had the ability to move without wasting too much energy on it. He didn't cross the rooms, he was simply strolling around. He was never in a hurry. He was wandering while things just happened to be in his way.

'He wants me to investigate the conspiracy against him,' Jess declared and dropped into a pompously draped armchair, draping an arm over its cherubim-decorated back.

'Under the pretext you're collecting information for the **Chronicle**, Jess,' he continued under his nose, scrunching his forehead and tapping his knuckles over the leather clad book in his lap.

Oh, right. _The book._ The **Chronicle**. The book of all books. Jess brought it along everywhere he went. Probably he had grown physically attached to it. The Queen tilted her head to the side, her eyes following the rough stitches that kept the sheets together. That's just how filthy and unworthy the most valuable possession in this kingdom looked.

'After so many wars,' Jess went on while his look scanned the candle lit room (the Queen liked candles) 'he finally managed to get a concussion.'

The Queen gave him a scornful look. He returned it openly. She rose an eyebrow and crossed her hands. He rose a finger,

'Oh, oh, oh,' he shook his head. 'No.'

She looked at him even more insistently.

'No way.'

'Jess.'

'I said, forget it.'

'You know there is a conspiracy,' she pointed out innocently.

Change of tactics. She was gonna make this slowly, step by step. Lead him towards the answer blindly, so that it looked like the only logical thing to do, so that he would be a hundred percent sure how he came up with the solution all by himself.

Jess waved his hand dismissively. He wasn't a man who could be easily blinded. His look scimmed the room restlessly. When it reached the crib, a muscle over his forehead twitched and he turned back towards the Queen.

'Of course there is a conspiracy. There is **always** a conspiracy.'

The Queen shook her head knowingly.

'It's different this time. Rober is smart. He wouldn't mention it if he didn't have something in mind. He's too smart for that.'

Jess rolled his eyes.

'Didn't we just agree that the poor old man had a concussion?'

The Queen srunched her nose in disapproval.

'I think we agreed you wouldn't call him that.'

'You're right, he's hardly... huh, I'm not sure I can count that much.'

The Queen swatted his arm, making a futile attempt to keep her face straight.

'Jess!'

'Hey,' he put his hands up in defense, 'it's not my fault that he decided to live forever. And I mean **forever**,' he stressed the word, giving a meaningful nod. 'Plus, have you ever heard me use the word demented? Never. Not once.'

Jess was a royal chronicler. He wrote events down the way they were meant to be remembered. Every sane king was aware of the importance of writing history down _correctly_. And that hardly had anything to do with grammar mistakes. One day people would read the chronicles, they would shake their heads and say, 'Come to think of it, that's exactly how it happened,' the thought they weren't even born at the time never crossing their mind.

The chapel chime struck midnight.

The Queen approached the broad framed mirror, took a golden handled comb and started moving it through her hair.

'You have to stop appearing in my room out of thin air,' she changed topic, surprising him.

Jess's brows flew up.

'Deal. Next time I'll bring troubadours. Might wake the guards under your window, though, raise questions.'

The Queen gave him a look in the mirror.

'Very funny.'

Jess held her gaze.

'My stomach hurts with laughter.'

The Queen was one of those women who could make you do anything... _anything_, just so that you could make them happy. No pressure, no begging or bargaining, no cornering you until you caved in. Nah, it was just that you wanted to see such a woman smile, because a smile stood damn well on her.

The Queen narrowed her eyes.

'You're being impossible. What's with you tonight?'

A muscle across his jaw jumped.

'Nothing's with me tonight.'

In addition to being royal chronicler, Jess was the most difficult man the Queen had ever known. Both bored and irritated by the rest of the world, he had a ready cynical answer for any situation. If he didn't speak, his look did enough to mock. When he wasn't being ironic, he didn't look at all, he ignored.

Strangely enough, this man was the best royal chronicler in a range of thousands of miles. Jess had a talent. That was unquestionable. When he was writing, the world seemed to rearrange under his feather. It must be a matter of balance - all those words had to go somewhere, eventually._  
_

The Queen finished combing her hair and put the comb down. Her blue eyes met the reflecion of Jess's brown ones. They were dark, unsettled.

Whatever he wasn't telling her she wouldn't be able to get out of him. When Jess refused to talk, there was no force that would make him.

'Jess, will you help me undress?'

'Thought you'd never ask,' he cheered up, finding himself right beside her.

The Queen looked down, letting a small smile creep up her cheeks. When she blushed, she looked even younger than she was. When she looked back at him, her look bore honest concern.

'Jess... if you're in trouble, you're gonna tell me, right?'

He smirked and shrugged a shoulder.

'I'm a trouble-free man, madam.'

The Queen let out a sigh and reached up to touch his cheek. Two years in the castle had made him look older. A thought crossed her mind - that a man grew old not with his age, but with his heart.

* * *

The windows in the King's boudoirs were wide open. The warm June sun threw its last yellow-pinkish rays, the walls of the King's study catching their reflective glow. The air that filled the room smelled like grass, ground and blossom.

'Jess, what do you think about the Queen?'

Jess kept on writing in the **Chronicle** without looking up.

The King was slowly pacing around the massive oak desk where Jess was sitting, studying the younger man carefully.

'Most members of the court find her pretty mature for her age,' King Rober continued, rubbing his white beard with thumb and middle finger.

Jess kept writing, seemingly deaf to the King's monologue.

'Jess' the King continued, 'I'd like to ask you something,' he stopped right before the desk. Then adjusted the belt where his sword hung.

Jess's hand paused over the worn sheets as he looked up.

'Your Majesty?'

King Rober was a man of considerable age. What age exactly, no one could say, except for, maybe, the King himself. Young women said he looked like a noble person, their mothers remembered he was an attractive man at the time. Boys said he looked like a great warrior, and their fathers believed him to be one of their wisest rulers so far.

Interesting, what could the King possibly want to ask a man like Jess?

'Do you think I'm too old for her?'

Jess blinked apprehensively.

'Love has no age, Your Majesty,' he replied mechanically.

The King smiled. The answer seemed to satisfy him._  
_

'Do you know that you and Rory lived in the same village?' he asked, continuing his pace around the room. It was getting dark and Jess had to stare at the words in order to see them clearly.

'Pardon, Your Majesty?'

The King smiled even wider and his blue eyes fixed the young man behind the desk.

'The Queen,' he began, approaching the desk, 'before she became a queen, lived in he same village as you did - down by the river, by the river Earl.'

Jess's eyebrows rose slightly.

'Interesting fact, Your Highness.'

The King nodded, seemingly satisfied with this answer, too. Jess went back to his work, writing one tad faster than he normally would, leaning closer to the book so that he could make out the letters.

'When was the wedding planned?'

The feather froze over the **Chronicle**.

The King sighed.

'Must have been a couple of weeks away... and then _we_ appeared. Tired and hungry after a battle, inexplicably grateful for the hospitality of the Lord of Dormei. Poor Voghan, how was he supposed to stand before the King and tell him that his daughter was already promised to another?'

Jess's head was up and his eyes bore holes into the ones of the King. If it weren't for the growing pallor of his face, one would think that two men were just having some guy talk.

The King shook his head and approached the window, passing by the desk.

'You don't really think I would get a chronicler... that I would let someone _in my home_, without doing some research first?

Jess breathed slowly. In. Out. Carefully, as if any sudden movement could make his world fall apart. Or maybe it already had.

'I have to admit that, when you came to apply for the job, I was impressed. It was obvious you were well educated, but so are hundreds of others sons of feodal lords. You have_ the mind_ of a chronicler. When I learned who you really were, I was even ready to presume there was some mistake. Yet, your part had its weak points, too.'

An unspoken witty comment flashed through Jess's eyes, but he kept it to himself. Only the knuckles of his right hand were going white around the feather._  
_

The King shook his head understandingly, although he wasn't facing Jess directly. There was this thing about King Rober - he didn't need to _watch_ people to know what their reaction would look like. He led the conversation in a way that evoked certain reactions. Never the opposite.

'When Rory was in labor,' he answered the unspoken question. 'The love for a woman is far more easily concealed than your concern about her, boy.'

Of course it showed. He must have been pacing the castle corridors blindly for days, clutching the **Chronicle** in his hand without even remembering to open it. Unshaven, disheveled, with a chalk taste in his mouth.

_Complicated labor._ What the hell was that supposed to mean? Complicated how? Until when? How long were they gonna keep the damn doors shut, with all those old women and doctors there?

Then, it was finally official - the throne had gotten its heir. The King had a son.

When Jess heard the news, he felt sick. Terribly. He managed to hide into an old storage room and there, while sitting on the stone floor between two piles of potatoes, he decided to get away. As far as possible. Away from here. Away from the King's son, from the King's wife, from the King's _shadow_ wherever he went.

'What now?' Jess asked. His voice came out sore.

The King turned to face him, deep in thought, and walked back to the desk to sit in the richly decorated armchair that stood before it._  
_

'It's up to you,' the King answered simply. 'It always is.'_  
_

Jess stood up stiffly. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

'What will it be?' the words scratched his throat.

There was a hint of surprise in the King's eyes.

'What do you want me to do?' Jess repeated.

The King gave him an approving look.

'You're smart, son. That's good.'

He thought for another second, then continued,

'I want you to kill me.'

The declaration caught Jess off guard. When he came back to his senses, he let out a humorless laugh.

'Excuse me?'

'I want you to get among the conspirators and convince them to let you be the one to kill me.'

_That would go well_, Jess thought._ I greet them, we have a beer and then I say_, 'By the way, I know about the conspiracy and I wanna be the one to kill the King.'

'Look, Jess, you're a smart boy,' the King said calmly. '_Think_ about it. How can you stop a riot?'

Jess chewed on the insides of his cheeks, trying to decide if he should answer. What the hell, if he was going to die anyway, he could as well die telling what was on his mind.

'You can't,' he answered.

'Exactly,' the King nodded. 'Sooner or later, one way or another, it will happen. But this time, it will happen exactly the way we have _planned_ it.'

Jess blinked.

'_We_,' he repeated, as if tasting the word.

However he tried to rephrase it, it sounded absurd, he decided. He, Jess, the King's accomplice in faking his own royal murder.

The King gave him a nod.

'After everything you said, you would pick _me _for such a job,' Jess repeated, his voice soaked with disbelief.

If that didn't scream _demented_, what did?.

'_Because_ of everything I said, young man. Exactly because of it.'

Okay, it was official. The King was nuts.

Jess smiled joylessly and stood up. The King stood up as well.

'Believe me, whether I'll die by your hand or by the hand of a conspirator, it won't make that much of a difference, Your Majesty. If you excuse me.'

He expected a shot any second now, or maybe a blade, or at least a melodramatic 'Guards, catch this man and chain him up!' behind his back. However, no such thing followed.

Jess had already reached the door when the King spoke.

'Jess, have you ever wondered why a man of my age never had an heir, up until now?

Jess stopped, his forehead furrowing.

'The answer to most questions is beyond simple, my boy. You just have to ask the right questions.'

Jess's fingers gripped at the golden door handle, his knuckles going white with the tension.

'There is no one in this kingdom who has as much to lose as you do, my boy,' the King sighed. There was no malice in his voice. He was simply laying out the facts. 'I wouldn't trust you with my own life if it weren't so.'_  
_

* * *

The Queen entered her boudoir, carrying her son in both hands, humming a quiet lullaby.

She stopped as she heard someone come behind her. She took a breath and turned back.

'Jess, I swear next time you stalk me up like that, I'm gonna call the guards and I'll tell them to...'

She didn't finish. Something had happened. It was written all over his face.

'What happened?' she asked, but this time her voice didn't belong to a queen, but to a woman in love.

Jess came closer and looked at the babyboy in her hands as if he were seeing him for the first time. Then he looked up at her. Surprise. Betrayal. Anger.

The Queen looked down.

'He told you.'

Jess exhaled noisily. He had gotten the affirmation he had come for. _Congrats, Jess, it's a boy._

'Someone had to,' he said and made a step back, running both hands through his hair.

So, that's what it felt like. Once Rory told him she felt like she was cheating on a whole kingdom, and not only on her husband. Right now, he had a feeling that he had cheated _with_ a whole kingdom. The King has a problem but - hey, Jess is here to provide, what the hell...

The Queen held the baby tighter. The child let out a displeased sound and she started bouncing him lightly.

'Jess...' she made a step towards him, but he drew back.

When their eyes met, hers were wide and dark blue and for a moment he saw the reflection of long days spent by the river Earl, days when he would lay with his head in her lap while she read aloud another book she managed to sneak from her father's library. Those days seemed far, far away now.

* * *

'How am I supposed to convince them to pick me for such a job?' Jess paced restlessly around the King's study.

King Rober was sitting in his armchair, watching the young man calmly.

'No one would buy this,' Jess shook his head.

The King smiled.

'People are easily scared, Jess,' he began. 'They would do anything to avoid taking responsibility. They like to play by the book, avoiding important decisions.'

Jess scoffed dismissively. Great, that was just great. Now they were discussing common psychology.

'Think about it,' the King continued, 'why do you write the **Chronicle**? So that people can _read_ what's happening. Eveyone knows that the most important truths can't be found in a book. Yet, people play by the book. What you write down today could have a powerful impact tomorrow. Not because it's the truth, but because people want to believe so, because that gives them something to hold on to. You'll be surprised how many truths are created by sheer fear. Think about the future _king_, Jess.'

Jess's shoulders tensed.

'How much blue blood does he have in his veins? Yet, one day, he will be _King_. His children will have blue blood, because they will be _the children_ of the _King_.'

King Rober shook his head.

'It's all about the way you use the facts at hand, boy. Have the guts to choose what's happening.'

Jess closed his eyes and rubbed his burning eyelids. His head was about to explode any moment now, creating a good occupation for the cleaning maids. His ears pounded with the King's words. _Have the guts to choose what's happening._ Again and again, until he started to feel nauseous.

And right there, he remembered those lazy afternoons by the river Earl. Two years, was that only how much time had passed? It all looked like a previous life now. Yet, this dark-haired boy by the river, it was him. And now he was expected to save a kingdom and choose what was happening.

When Jess looked back at the King, his eyes flashed with determination.

**History is... words. Words, written in blue blood.**

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**True history... is words, written in blue blood.**

* * *

**~ In the hands of the willows ~**

_**Three years ago...**_

'I was thinking.'

'That explains the strange noise as we sit.'

He gave her a look. They were sitting on a thick branch, projecting from the trunk of the old willow right off the river bank and over the water. Her legs were looped over his and the rays of the setting sun were playing hide and seek in her hair. An Indian summer afternoon where the only sound was of leaves rustling above their heads and mullets jumping in the water.

'Sorry,' she let out a chuckle, finding his seriousness strangely amusing. 'Go on,' she kicked his leg lightly to encourage him. 'You were thinking.'

He didn't finish, just kept tracing her outlines with his gaze.

'Where do you see yourself, three years from now?' he asked instead.

Her eyebrows flew up.

'Hmm,' she crossed her arms before her chest, mimicking hard thinking. 'I would probably be sitting in the same tree,' she said then, 'talking books and weather with that same obnoxious boy next door.'

He swallowed and looked over at the river, as if debating his next words.

'Jess?' she narrowed her eyes, her playful mood giving way to concern. 'Is there something wrong?'

She could read into his inner struggle, only this time she had no clue what it was about.

'Come on,' he moved her legs off his suddenly, and jumped off the tree. Once his feet touched the ground, he stretched a hand up for her to hold on to as she jumped, too.

'First in the water, slow legs,' he challenged.

The next moment he was kicking his shoes to the side, taking his shirt off while running towards the river.

She followed him closely, tossing her skirt on her way.

Once in the water, she laughed involuntarily at the impulsiveness of his act. They swam towards one another and when they were at an arm's length, he caught her face in his hands, his lips covering hers. It was an easy routine, finding place for her hands behind his neck, the way they had so many times before. She laughed through the kiss and tightened her grip around his neck.

'What's into you today?' she asked as their foreheads touched. 'If I didn't know you, I'd presume you're bipolar.'

'Marry me,' he whispered, barely audible, his breathing laboured.

'W-what?' she drew back so she could have a better look at him. God, his face was stone serious and his arms were slightly shaking, despite the water being warm.

'Marry me,' he repeated even quieter, but this time she had no doubt she heard him right.

Her face broke into a smile.

'Gladly,' she laughed against his lips, kissing his face, eyes, mouth, feeling him relax under her as the world went by and the water that surrounded them stood still, swallowling their happiness, keeping them warm.

* * *

_**Present time...**_

The Queen watched the riders as they left the castle through the wide castle gates, their horses leaving a white cloud of dust behind. Her face was composed into an unreadable expression, fine features gracefully aligned to hide her thoughts. Her eyes, however, were stormy. Such pristine blue could never serve as a mask, and she knew that if someone entered the room right now, they would know exactly what was going through her head.

Had any member of their court seen her like that, they would never buy her speech about the bravery of their men, facing fear and death selflessly while protecting their beloved kingdom.

Because there was that. She hated every time the wide gates of the castle opened and let those men out, she felt she lost something every time. This wasn't something that was expected from a Queen. A Queen was supposed to feel pride with every battle that called out to the bravery of her army's swords. Pride, not infinite loss.

'Your Majesty?' a maid stopped at the door, knowing better than entering the Queen's boudoirs uninvited.

'I'm coming, Maria,' the Queen said without turning back from the window, her voice icy. Her voice, opposed to her honest eyes, could tell lies without a flinch. Otherwise the young maid would quickly know what had been kept secret from a whole kingdom.

'Yes, Your Majesty.'

Sometimes, she didn't think it was that hard. People wanted to believe what was easiest to believe. They would never want to admit that their Queen was simply a woman. They needed to have her high up and build her an altar. This was just how people were.

Half an hour later, Rory wetted her lips before she stood up at a long dining table, preparing herself to give a toast. Dozens of eyes got fixed on her slim form. Her fingers clutched at her glass harder but the smile never left her lips.

'Our King is away,' she began, her voice a fine balance between celebration and authority, 'but we shall make him proud while so. He has gone to fight our enemies and make them our allies. For years and years this kingdom has known many times of hardship, but we never backed down under their weight. In a time of impending war, we shall stick together and our integrity will be rewarded. Our King will come back with our men, and they will find us ready to meet them with pride, the way it has always been, the way it always shall be. Long live our king!' the Queen raised her glass and the dining hall filled with the clinking of dozens of other glasses.

There was something about Queen Lorelai that made people like her. It came naturally, almost effortlessly. When she talked, her cheeks got a rose tinge that made her beautiful in a way that youth was - innocent, yet very feminine at the same time.

It wasn't her beauty that won over the people of Dunham, though. This Kingdom had known many rulers during the years of its existence, and some of them had had queens whose beauty was thought exceptional. There was something about Rory beyond her beauty that made her _Queen of the people_. It was rooted somewhere in the firm belief that she was a good person. There was that air of grace and dignity that streamed from her every gesture, and people felt sincere love for her. They loved their King, and instead of being jealous of his young wife, the court made their mind to accept her. In her case, it was the easier thing to do.

Of course, the court couldn't possibly know some details surrounding the royal bedroom. There were only three people who knew the truth, and each of them had a good reason to keep it that way.

* * *

Two months later, the wind was howling outside, a whirling blizzard making it impossible to see anything else than the smudged light coming from the castle.

It was on a night like this when the King and his men came back from the battle.

When the maid came to inform the Queen that _His Majesty is resting in his room_, Rory gave her a nod and waited until the young girl left. Then grabbed a coat and hurried out.

She took a little unusual path for the King's boudoir, though, choosing to pass through the servants' wing. She hung the hood of her coat low, its darkblue colour making it look no different than any of the maids' coats.

When she reached the hall leading to the big royal kitchen, Rory hid behind a stone column, waiting for a couple of maids to pass by without spotting her. When she was sure no one was coming her way, she moved closer so that she could see the big fire where they were boiling the water for supper.

He was sitting on the floor - close to the fire, his back against the stone wall, the **Chronicle** lying open in his lap. His hair was still damp from the snow, and his cheeks, despite the stubble, looked more hollow than last time she saw him. Other than that, he was there. Writing. _Alive_.

Battles needed to be remembered. And for that, they needed to be written down. Every single battle there was, the royal chronicler was expected to witness. He had signed under that rule. She had signed under it. He had undergone special training, so that he could fight just as any member of the royal army. She had never said a word to oppose that. She had let him take every little step that led him out to the battlefields, and she quietly hated herself for that.

Yet, two months later, he was sitting in his usual place by the kitchen fire, deaf for the dinner preparation fuss. He had come back along with the ithers. Alive. Yet another time.

The Queen left the hallway quickly, before someone noticed that their Queen was in a place she wasn't supposed to be, her eyes wet for no apparent reason.

* * *

Jess looked up from his place by the fire to look towards the long hallway that led to the kitchen. There was no one there except for a maid that was about to go out, carrying freshly baked bread. He shook his head and concentrated back on the **Chronicle**.

_... The men slowed down. Everyone waited for the King's command. Something was in the way, otherwise he wouldn't come to a halt._

_ There was a short second before the first arrow flew above our heads, and it felt like a premolition, that feeling when the air sizzles with the hiss of oncoming battle and anticipation starts to pile up, making it harder to breathe. The next moment we were moving through a rain of arrows, getting our own bows ready. It was as dark as it could get, the only light coming from a clouded half moon. _

_Then, the King gave his command and all men complied. We divided in two, each half starting to move in an enlarging semi-circle. Every skilled warrior knows that there is nothing worse than sticking in a group when you're under arrow attack. If someone was watching us from above, I believe they would've seen two large C-shapes going in opposite directions, fighting for perimeter, similar to two stocks of birds flying in synch. We rode. We fought. And right there, all men were one.  
_

Jess's hand paused over the book. He had to skip some of the memories that followed, because the **Chronicle** was only meant for the _right_ memories, and not ones who gave out how fast blood spills when an arrow is shoved through someone's neck, nor ones that included vivid descriptions of the sound of metal flying through the air before running through young innocent flesh. Such reading could discourage the bravery of many men, and no king wanted this to happen.

Then, there were numbers. Jess _hated_ the numbers. People killed, people survived. All there would come out of them was a number in the **Chronicle**.

Chronologically, next thing Jess remembered (and was also going to skip in the **Chronicle**), was how his head got nearly chopped off his shoulders. The sky was almost completely dark, the half moon fully clouded. However, midway in the air someone's sword stopped the one flying towards Jess, a spark marking his first second of prolonged life. When Jess turned to see the face of his savior, he was to equal measure surprised and displeased to see King Rober himself. Hours later, when they moved on, exhausted after the battle, he rode up to the King. They rode side by side without exchanging a word for a while before the King said 'Now would be a very inconvenient time to lose your head,' and then rode ahead. The other men changed pace as well, following the King, leaving Jess take his place at the back of the column again.

Jess knew what the words of the King meant. They meant that he was still needed to fulfil a role, still too important for someone's plans. However, once the King's plan was over with, it wouldn't be so _inconvenient_ for Jess's head to be detatched from his body.

Jess shook his head from his place by the fire, brought back to reality by the head cook who was an impressive middle-aged lady, notorious both for her body mass and her feisty temper.

'Move along and do something useful, will ya?' the woman mumbled with obvious irritation. 'Get outta my way already.'

* * *

Jess walked into his room, holding the candle ahead to light his way. The **Chronicle** was secured under his arm. He bent to put the candle on the small wooden chair next to the door, but stopped in his track as he spotted the caped figure sitting on his bed.

'Lost your way?' he rose an eyebrow. 'Because the royal bedroom is at the other end of the castle.'

The Queen fiddled with the gloves in her lap. She was dressed like a maid. _Undercover_. Her hair was falling freely down her face, in contrast to the formal bun she ususally had on, or the complex structure of plaits for official dinners. She looked like any other young woman her age.

'You're still angry with me,' she observed calmly.

His fingers tightened their grip around the candle and the spine of the **Chronicle** started burning his ribs.

'What reason could I have to be angry with our Queen?' he asked with feigned surprise, his tone stinging with politeness.

Rory sighed and concentrated on the hands in her lap.

'I couldn't tell you the truth then. It would only endanger you both without being of use.'

'Both, huh?' he huffed, the sound making her look up. 'And what did you think I would do? Strangle our newborn prince when I get the news I'm his illegitimate father? Who the hell do you think me for?'

She let out a sigh.

'I couldn't tell you then,' she repeated simply.

'As opposed to how you told me the truth every other time,' Jess smiled humorlessly, shaking his head.

The Queen stood up,

'What do you imply? I never _lied_ to you.'

He gave her a pointed look.

_No you didn't. You always let me lie to myself._

'How about we get to the real reason why you're here?' he crossed his hands before his chest. He was always able to read through her. She wasn't here to apologize. She had a purpose. Damn, she always had a purpose, didn't she?.

She kept quiet, which only confirmed his doubt.

'Well, don't let me waste your time, _Your Highness_.' He moved away from the door, inviting her to go out.

The Queen smiled faintly. He liked to make her uncomfortable by using her title. By shutting her out. Creating a distance.

'Have plans?' she challenged.

He answered her look blatantly.

'There's that line of girls waiting in front of my door, you know.'

'I see. Well, I won't keep you then,' she said and looked down, putting her gloves on.

When she reached the door, she paused for a moment, as if debating with herself, but then put the hood of her cloak on and walked out, disappearing into the empty hallway.

Jess let out a heavy sigh and made a few steps around the room, as if trying to let some tension out. When he realized he was still clutching at the Chronicle, he moved to leave it on the small table by his bed. His eyes caught on something there. It had the royal seal on, as well as King Rober's family crest. _An order._

Jess brought the candle to put down on the table and started to read.

It was a royal decree, and it had Jess' name in it. It gave him freedom to pass through the main gates of the castle any time of day and night. Any time, without being questioned. Truthfully, it was an official document that granted him a pass through pretty much any door in the kingdom.

He knew what this was._ A way out._ Out of this castle. Out of the King's plan. Out of the conspiracy and the immediate danger of losing his head just so that he was granted another day around her. Yeah, he knew what this was. She was letting him go. If he chose to.

Jess turned towards the door where the Queen had just been.

_ Even when I don't have a choice, I'd still choose you_, she had told him the day she was taken to the castle. During the past three years, he had doubted the truthfulness of her words over and over, but somehow always came back to them. Maybe because if they turned out to be a lie, he would have nothing else left.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**~ Shush ~**

'Jess, what the hell...'

The Queen couldn't believe her eyes. He was there. In the middle of the day, entering through the front door.

She looked around to see if anyone was watching before closing the door after him. It wasn't common for random men to enter the Queen's boudoir without notice, royal chroniclers or not. God, it was the middle of day, literally _anyone_ could have seen him.

He moved past her to walk in, not bothering to offer an explanation. He went straight towards the nursery and she followed, finding him crouching by the crib. For a moment she couldn't form a reaction and simply froze by the door. He was holding the prince in his hands, his face dead serious, and she thought she read an unvoiced longing in his eyes. It was an image she had pictured in her head thousands of times when they were younger, but strangely now, it brought a bitter feeling of betrayal along. She couldn't help feeling guilty every time she had Jess around. Every time she remembered what she had planned for them and what they turned out to be. And it felt like betrayal, but nevertheless it was this stolen time, she knew, that kept her alive.

'He has your eyes,' she said then, and Jess's lips moved an inch up.

'He does, desn't he?' he said without tearing his look off his son.

They stood like this for a while, and then Jess put the babyboy back in his crib.

As he moved to walk out, she put a hand on his arm to stop him.

'Jess...'

He stopped and looked at her and by the look in his eyes she knew he had already forgiven her. For not telling him the truth. For not stopping him from following her here. His anger had been replaced by a look of chronic sadness and her heart cringed.

She remembered, when they were thirteen and they met for the first time, he had this same look in his eyes. He had just arrived at his uncle's after his mom's death, and she stretched her hand, telling him her name and saying she was sure they would become friends. Ten minutes later, he seemed tentatively ready to believe her. Ten years later, things seemed strangely similar yet irrevocably different.

Rory moved her hand to touch his face and he leaned into the touch, eyes closing. He was cracking, she could tell. Only she couldn't tell why.

'What's going on, Jess?'

He shook his head, her hand falling back by her side.

'It's about Rober, isn't it?' she tried to read his face, but it didn't offer a clue.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet and a little hoarse.

'Don't make me lie to you.'

There was a plead in his eyes.

'You know,' she smiled bitterly and bit a lip, looking to the side, 'sometimes I look around and I realize the absurd we're living. It's like walking on thin ice that's about to break any time soon and I don't even know how we got ourselves here. Like one day I'm gonna wake up and realize that all of this act was a bad dream and we're still in Dormei, sitting in that old willow, and the mullets are jumping in the water while we're asleep and...'

Her voice died as he covered her mouth with his, the kiss not lusty but sweet and comforting. She lifted her hands to cup his face between her palms, wanting to keep him there, wanting for the moment to stretch and last and for the old times to come back.

_'Let's bail. We'll be out of here before he even knows it.'_

_'We can't.'_

_'I'll find us a place and you'll complain about not knowing how to cook and about me smoking in the house, but it'll be a thousand times better than the castle, I promise.'_

_'Jess, we can't.' _

_'Why?'_

_'What about our families? Are we gonna take them all with us? What will happen to them once the King finds out we ran away? We can't.'_

_This was three years ago. Three years, and nothing had really changed._

They rested their foreheads together, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were wet.

'Jess, I...'

'Shush,' he put a finger on her lips. 'Don't say it.'

There was that silent question in her eyes.

'Why?'

'It would only make things harder.'

She looked at him and knew he was right.

'I do, though.'

His lips moved into a crooked smile.

'I know.'

She stayed paralyzed when he left a kiss over her forehead and then walked out.

She stayed still, because she didn't know what to make of his unusual display of emotion. He wasn't like this. He was guarded and arrogant and bitter. And he was sad, too, but always too stubborn to let it show. Something was happening and she couldn't wrap her mind around it. Then her look moved towards the crib and she knew.

The **Chronicle** was lying there, right next to their son.

Every day for the past three years, Jess had kept the **Chronicle** with him. The only reason he would leave it anywhere was if he thought he wasn't coming back. This was goodbye.

Rory grabbed the book and ran towards the door. She stopped to catch her breath and called out his name, but the empty hallway stared idly back. Jess was gone.

* * *

Jess pulled the reins and the horse slowed down. He had ridden for the past fifteen hours and his body felt like a bunch of battered bones. It was a little before sunrise. The first rays of cold January sun were about to come soon, but weren't out there yet. The world was a capsuled space of bluish semi-darkness. He hadn't slept as much as an hour for the past night and his head was heavy with random memories of his last days in the castle.

_'Why did you sign this?' Jess held the decree up in his hand.  
_

_The King looked at him openly. As usual, his piercing blue eyes never offered any answers. He was studying Jess instead.  
_

_'I was asked to,' the King answered simply._

_'I don't understand,' Jess shook his head wryly. He was tired of King Rober's riddles. If there was one thing Jess had learned for the time spent around him, the King couldn't be trusted. According to some twisted scheme, everything that happened around that man seemed to be under the rules of some mastermind plan. People were just pawns dancing over his chessboard.  
_

_ 'Why are you letting me go?' Jess asked directly.  
_

_'Who says I'm letting you go, son?' the King let out a good-natured laugh._

_ Jess squinted, an unpleasant feeling rushing through his veins. The old man was giving him the creeps._

_ 'We have an agreement, remember?' the King gave him a meaningful nod, as if saying, you didn't think I'm that old, did you?.  
_

_Of course. Of course there was s purpose behind the decree. It was a means to facilitate Jess' movement in and out of the castle, so that he could do his job. It was never about letting him go. At least as far as King Rober was concerned. You could never win someone else's game.  
_

_The King took a piece of paper from his desk and handed it to Jess. _

___'Here is the name of a woman who can help you,' he said.  
_

_There really was a name scribbled over the yellow paper. A name and what seemed like an address. _

_Written in advance._

_ Jess wondered if there was ever anything that could surprise King Rober. He was beginning to think no._

Jess dismounted his horse as he entered the village, the first shabby houses appearing meters from him, their chimneys letting small puffs of smoke out. The remains of an overnight fire. Jess walked slowly, holding the reins, studying the place. It was a poor village. One of the poorest. He hadn't passed by a single stream or river on the way here, and his good guess was people around were living on cattle breeding.

The air smelled like smoke and pigs.

He missed the weight of the **Chronicle** under his left arm. It had become his most trusted companion during the past three years.

'I'm looking for Muriel,' Jess said to a man walking out of what seemed like the local tavern. The man swayed from foot to foot, his eyes transfixed, before he could form a reply.

'Ya in trouble?' the man asked, his lips moving up in an unpleasant snicker, revealing a row of yellow teeth. Jess didn't bother to reply, just waited. 'She's a witch, ya know?' the man whispered, leaning forward. Jess' horse let out a displeased snort. 'She lives in the woods,' the man moved his head towards the woods after the village, 'but ya shall be careful, she'll have ya soul for breakfast.'

With a throaty laugh the man swayed away. Jess stayed for a while, thinking over the man's words. It was rather unusual for random drunks to use the word soul. Unless...

Jess turned, eyes searching for the man, but there was only the quiet of the oncoming morning and the smoke of the houses. He was alone.

Jess shook his head and mounted the horse, heading for the woods. Whatever was left of his soul, he wasn't ready to give up. Not yet. Not without a decent fight, to begin with.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**~ Pick Your Poison ~**

* * *

The wood was sparse and Jess could see the house in the distance as he approached. He tied the reins of the horse to a dry trunk and got closer.

It wasn't what he had expected. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what exactly he did expect, maybe some hen-legged house with strange creatures at the door. _She's a witch, ya know?_

'The ivy is just a precaution,' a woman's voice spoke behind him.

Jess turned abruptly to find an elderly woman leaning on a wodden walking stick, watching him peculiarly.

'They tried to set the house on fire a couple of times, so I had to get the ivy on the walls,' she explained while her small grey eyes continued studying him.

'What leads you here, boy?' she asked then.

Before he had formed a reply, she started for the house, passing him by.

'Come on,' without turning back, she made him a gesture to follow. 'You look hungry.'

Half an hour later, Jess was sitting on a wooden table, an empty soup bowl empty before him.

'Here,' Muriel gave him a steaming cup, 'thyme.'

Jess took it a little less suspiciously.

'You know about thyme, eh?' Muriel asked, sitting beside him, taking a sip from her own cup. 'Egyptians used it for embalming,' she explained.

Jess choked on his tea.

The woman laughed. Her laughter was nicer than the wicked laughter he would expect.

'Easy,' she shook her head, still smiling, 'It's also believed to be a source of courage. Which reminds me, are you gonna become more vocal any time soon? I have a schedule to attend.'

Jess' lips moved with the hint of a smile. Against all odds, he liked that strange woman who lived alone in the woods and fed him soup.

'I was sent by someone,' Jess said, taking a piece of paper out of his pocket. 'Here,' he put it on the table before her.

The King's note.

Muriel put a pair of thick-lense glasses on and took the note, inspectig it carefully. Then she stood up to come back with a candle and matchsticks. As she lit the candle, she put the piece of paper above the flame and small letters began to appear, as if someone was writing them down. When she was finished, she read through the note a couple of times. Then threw it into the fire where the teapot had boiled.

'What have you gotten yourself into, boy?' she looked up at him, and Jess read pity in her eyes.

He met her look openly, then shook his head.

'I'm not sure yet.'

* * *

The storm was getting more fierce with every minute. As another thunder tore the sky, Jess slowed down. The horse let out a tired snort. Jess looked around. The whole wood seemed to be taking part in the storm. Like a disastrous concert where the trees were howling and rustling in the common choir. A lightning illuminated the sky and, between the shadows of the trees, Jess saw the profile of something else. Something living. Something that had followed him all the way here.

He strained to hear something, anything that could give him a clue to what the creature was, but all he could hear was the lashing of the rain and the jaded song of the trees. He shook his head and spurred the horse. He was lost in the middle of the woods, with a raging rainstorm on, and the faster he found his way, the better chance he had to deliver Muriel's '_help_' safe at the castle. He felt for the small vial against his chestbone, hanging on a thin chain from his neck. _Pick your poison_, Muriel had said. Jess had stared at her collection of potions put in glass bottles on shelves. _You're really a witch, then, _Jess had challenged, more like a joke than an actual question. _I could be the fairy godmother, couldn't I, _Muriel had shrugged.

When Jess finally managed to get out of the forest, he saw the light of a lantern. He couldn't get rid of the feeling that he was being followed. Another lightning blazed and for a short moment he grasped the sight of a wolf, watching him intently with its small grey eyes. Then the lightning was gone, and so was the animal.

He was getting closer to the light of what seemed like an inn when he felt a sharp pain in his left leg. He looked down to find an arrow in his left thigh. Next thing he knew, he was being pushed off his horse and right after, his world collapsed in pain. When he managed to stagger back to his feet, all he was able to see were the parting silhouettes of two riders taking away his horse. He looked back to the arrow stabbed in his thigh. The rain was pouring down on him, washing the wound. Everything looked black - the night, the rain, the blood. Only the arrow shone like silver. Jess' head was going dizzy. He had to get to the inn now, or else he was gonna be lost, robbed and eventually, dead. He moved his hand up to his chest, feeling for Muriel's vial. Then limped towards the inn.

* * *

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**_~ History Is Written By The Survivors ~_**

The Queen stood by the crib, feeling her son's forehead with the back of her hand.

'How is he?' the King's voice came behind her.

'Still feverish,' she shook her head.

'What did the doctor say?'

Rory sighed, remembering the doctor's words.

'To wait.'

King Rober smiled a small patient smile. His royal smile.

'Then we wait.'

'What if it's no use?'

'Sometimes trying to rush things causes greater damage than letting them run their own course.'

She looked at him and wondered at the ease with which he said something like that. She had never seen this man express passion. His emotions were so well handled, so well thought out, she never saw him lose his temper, go out of his way. This was no such surprise, though. Because he would always be more of a king than an ordinary human being. He would always be the king of Dunham before he was a man, a father or a husband. He had been a ruler all his life and his very nature was shred up by this one fact.

'I...' she squeezed her eyes shut before she had said something she would regret.

She realized that what she needed right now was for someone to be here, someone who was hers and not their kingdom's. Someone who was family. Her family. Her man.

She imagined what Jess would say, how he would pace to and fro around the room, going mad over the doctors' inability to handle a fifteen pound baby with fever. And it would be useless, his whole ranting and swearing and dark sarcasm, but it would make her feel like the responsible one - calmer, so she could calm him. And it would be them - something familiar, something she knew how to stick to.

She blinked rapidly, trying to chase the daydream away.

'Sorry, I need a moment,' she excused herself, turning towards the window.

She looked outside towards a bright winter afternoon. The sky was pristine and the sun created the illusion that it could take the February chill away.

'Rory,' she heard Rober's voice close behind her and turned, meeting his light blue eyes. Their colour very much resembled the one of the cold February sky.

'He will come back,' Rober said calmly and her mouth fell slightly open at the ease with which he had read her.

'Who.' she tried to feign confusion but Rober shook his head knowingly.

'If only for the fact that his job here is not finished, he will come back,' he said, ignoring her question.

She bit her lip and looked down, fighting her own excitement. Then looked up, determined to finish this conversation, once it had already started.

'That's why he came back from those battles safe, then?' she asked. 'Because you had plans for him?'

'History, my dear, is written by the survivors. I had to make sure he was one of them.'

Rory had often wondered why a man like Rober would let their 'situation' (for a lack of a better word) stretch for so long. Any sane man would have had Jess' head off the moment an heir was born.

Why was Rober letting Jess live? Half an year later, what use had their king of this young man who truly had the gift of written words but was a huge thorn in the eye anyway? In time, Rory had come to realize that King Rober had the gift of finding good use of everyone around him. If Jess was still alive, it was for a purpose.

'And when his... job is over?' she forced the words, looking the King directly in the eye.

'If he has done well, then all of us end up alive.'

* * *

Jess opened his eyes and squinted. It was hard to determine whether he was in heaven or hell. He was lying in a bed, he realized. It was warm. There were bells. Thin little voices of steel, jingling close to his side. He turned to see a girl of about five years boiling water over a big fire. He tried to move.

His leg hurt like hell.

'He woke up!' the girl's voice pierced through his head. 'Mom, come, he woke up!'

The door opened and a middle-aged woman came in, leaning over his bed, her commoner's face wearing a serious frown.

She took the cover to lift off him, and he caught her wrist.

'Where am I?' he asked. His voice came out hoarse. He must have been asleep for days.

She met his look directly, her eyes firm and unafraid.

'There are half a dozen armed men outside,' she said, her voice steady, 'so I wouldn't try anything stupid in your place.'

With that, she freed her wrist from his hold and lifted the cover to inspect his leg.

'Where are my clothes?' he asked, squinting as she touched his leg. 'That hurt!'

'It's supposed to, the arrow that wounded you contained poison,' the woman explained, unimpressed. Something in her demeanour told him he wasn't the first wounded man she took care of.

'Who are you?'

She looked up at him and rose an eyebrow.

'Someone you owe your life to.'

'What is this place?' he asked, looking around the room.

'An inn. We found you in the morning the other day. You looked pretty dead.'

'My leg hurts a bit too much for a dead person, thank you.'

She looked back at his leg.

'I took the arrow out, but it's still infected. You'll be lucky if you manage to keep your leg.'

He tried to sit in the bed so that he could look at his leg, but he felt dizzy and fell back.

She put the back of her hand on his forehead and turned towards the girl.

'Lilly, I need some cold water and cloths. He's still feverish.'

Then she turned back to him.

'You better have some sleep, you'll question me later,' she said and moved a cloth towards his face. The thing smelled strangely, but before Jess had time to think about it, he felt he was drifting away.

And as the world started to lose colour, at the back of his mind there was a castle where someone was waiting for him to come back.

* * *

The Queen crossed the stone corridors with the confident pace of someone who knew their way. She only stopped when she got the notion that something behind her moved. A slight rearrangement of shadows, a brisk drift of air before everything stood still again. It had been like this for weeks now, and she was beginning to think she was paranoid.

She could be followed, though. Come to think of it, that was among the most logical consequences of being a queen. Would Rober have someone on her tail? Rather not, she decided. There was too much at stake, because some of her secrets were his secrets, too, and he wouldn't let anyone know something they weren't supposed to know. But if it weren't the king who had set someone after her, then who?

A couple of minutes later, she was at Olivia Grande's, current Princess Royal of Dunham, boudoir doors.

'Your Ma...' the maid ran after her, but Rory ignored her, entering Olivia's room.

'Her Majesty the Queen, Your Highness,' the maid mumbled as Rory stopped before king Rober's sister.

'That I can see myself, my dear,' Princess Olivia dismissed the maid with a wave of her hand.

The Princess Royal was an elderly woman with sharply defined features. Everything, from her manners to every little detail of her royal dress, conveyed an air of aristocracy.

'What can I do for you, Lorelai?' the elder woman demanded without moving from her richly decorated sofa. She was among the few people that used Rory's whole first name without the official title. But it somehow felt right. True, at least.

'Why did you have someone following me?' Rory asked instead of an answer.

Ever since the first time she met king Rober's sister, Rory knew the older woman despised her. There were enough reasons for that, beginning form Rory's lack of royal connection to her youth and lack of court experience. Olivia was everything Rory was not. She had the blue blood of dozens of rulers running through her veins. She had watched generations rise and fall before her eyes and humble, naive Lorelai Leigh of Dormei was nothing like Olivia had expected for her brother.

To be completely honest, Rory herself could not yet figure the exact reason why Rober had chosen her for his wife. He had a certain kindness for her, Rory could always tell. Ever since he saw her that first time, in her father's stable, preparing her horse for a ride, his eyes grew a little softer when he looked at her. But all that quickly dissipated when she tried to push for anything more than kindness from him. Royals couldn't afford to fall in love, Rober had told her once, and she thought he sounded a little sad.

Olivia studied Rory sceptically.

'You sound pretty sure in yourself for someone who doesn't know the answer,' Olivia said.

'You sound pretty unimpressed for someone who doesn't know it yourself,' Rory shot back.

She had learned that with people like Olivia you either stood tall, or never got a chance of looking up again.

'Do you really think that if I had someone follow you, I would tell you right away?'

'We could save some time,' Rory crossed her arms before her chest. 'I'm willing to tell you what you want to know myself, as long as some creep doesn't follow me all around.'

Olivia had thin lips that had formed a pressed straight line.

'You're more unfit for this castle than I initially thought,' she said with a small disappointed smile that showed her teeth. 'You should've gone home while you still had a choice,' she sighed. 'Now this place is gonna ruin you.'

'You mean you're gonna ruin me.'

The Princess rose an eyebrow.

'You place yourself too high,' she informed coldly. 'You're not that important.'

Then, turning towards the maid,

'Vella, we're done here. Accompany her Majesty to her rooms.'

* * *

'Why do you keep her here?' Rory paced to and fro in King Rober's study.

The King propped his chin on his knuckles and studied her curiously without answering her question. He knew her well enough to know the difference between a real question and a fervent rant.

'She's spiteful and bitter,' Rory went on. 'She hates me for all possible and impossible reasons and she can't be talked down.'

'I take it you've been talking to Olivia,' the King rested back in his chair, not nearly impressed by her rant.

'She had someone follow me,' Rory huffed with more irritation than anything else. 'Neither of us would want that, would we?' she asked, a hint of accusation sneaking through her voice.

The King smiled his polite smile.

Okay, she was being childish, she knew. But his lack of reaction didn't help, did it?

'I'll tell her to call them off,' he said then.

Rory worked her jaw, obviously not satisfied with this answer.

'Why do you let her get away with everything?'

'She's my sister.'

'You don't keep her here for brotherly feelings,' Rory rolled her eyes, eliciting a brief smile over the King's lips.

She had her own observations over him for the time spent in the castle. He wasn't someone who would put family before his country's interest or before his own safety. She knew that much.

He gave Rory a nod, as if she had come up with a missing puzzle piece.

'I need her counselling,' he answered seriously, his pure blue eyes meeting hers openly. 'I need someone who questions everything I do. Everything you do. She opposes me. I need that.'

Rory looked down, feeling a pang of guilt for her childish display.

'I see,' she agreed after a minute's thought. And she understood. He could see she did.

'Well,' she looked up then, finding a renewed energy, 'tell her to call her watchdog off.'

The King smiled. Not a purposeful smile, but a genuine one. Or at least she thought so.

'I will,' he nodded.

She gave him a small acknowledging bow before she made her way to the door.

'And, Rory?'

She turned back.

'Yeah?'

'You needn't feel jealous of her,' he said knowingly.

She lifted her chin defiantly, trying for a negligent scorn.

'I'm not jealous,' she huffed, sounding like that very young version of herself again.

King Rober's smile grew wider.

'Good.'

She met his amused eyes and walked out of his study, fighting a sheepish grin herself.

* * *

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

** ~ Trapped ~**

* * *

_... King Rober entered Lord Voghan's stable in search for his horse. What (or, more precisely, who) he encountered was hardly expected - a few meters from him, pulling at the reins of her horse, stood a laughing angel. Indian summer sunlight sneaked through the wooden laths of the stable reflecting in her hair, creating a sunny halo. A piece of September sky sneaked into her orbs and for a moment the King felt enchanted.  
_

_King Rober was a sane man. A reasonable one. He didn't generally believe in things as predestined acquaintances, but that afternoon he had a distinct feeling he had stumbled into his own fate.  
_

_A woman, more of a girl, really, in his way. Not realizing she was about to stand in the way of a nation and alter it largely, all that in the easy pace of her girlish stride. _

* * *

'Here,' Rory put the heavy book before her husband. 'It's safer in your hands than it is in mine.'

King Rober looked at **the Chronicle** and then back up to his wife.

'You read it, didn't you?' he asked knowingly.

Rory met his look and her eyes bore a cold shade of icy blue. She looked distant, a little sad maybe. She wasn't really here.

'Some of it,' she shrugged. 'I couldn't bring myself to finish.'

_Because finishing it would feel like another goodbye._

'How is Josh?'

'Better. The fever's gone. He's eating again.'

'And you?' he asked, his voice soft.

It took her a while to smile.

'I'm good.'

Her smile lingered just long enough to keep up appearances. Then she looked away.

Rober gave her a thoughtful nod.

Truth be told, he didn't expect this to stretch so far. Her writing boy was gone for only a month and it was hard to recognize her anymore. The glow that usually streamed from her eyes was replaced by that dull shadow of blue, so different from what had made a King hold his breath before a commoner three years ago. She looked trapped. A bird in a cage she wasn't trying to escape anymore.

Rober gave her an openly concerned look, knowing she wouldn't notice anyway. She never really expected him to care, he had realized. When it came to him, she felt like another precious belonging to add to the royal pile, no longer an object of interest after she had provided an heir to the throne. She was socially acceptable and people loved her, because she made them believe in fresh starts and new hope and made them feel more... _idealistic_ than they actually were. And she was unhappy, King Rober thought. She was unhappy and she wasn't trying to cover it anymore because she didn't think he would care.

Rober opened his mouth to say something, but then decided against it and sighed. Whatever he said right now, it wouldn't change a thing, he thought sadly.

Rory excused herself and turned to leave and there, right before she left the King's study, she remembered that particular afternoon when she met her husband for the first time.

_'You still got hay in your hair,' Jess lifted a hand to get a straw out of her hair._

_'Your fault,' Rory stuck her tongue out. _

_Jess shook his head, continuing to pick straws off her. _

_'I have picked a wife of the wilderness.'_

_'You can include this in your vow,' she shrugged.  
_

_He made a face._

_'I thought we agreed on not doing this.' _

_'Not doing what?' _

_'This. Vows.'_

_'Actually, I said, what about we do vows and you said...' she paused, feigning hard thinking. 'Hm, come to think of it you didn't say anything, so I considered this your silent acceptance.'_

_'Well, it wasn't.'_

_'Too late now. Better think of something remotely romantic or I'll be forced to strangle you on our wedding day,' she beamed.  
_

_'Guess I'll have to find a way to stay alive then,' he rubbed his head thoughtfully. She gave him a questioning look. _

_'You know,' he continued, 'so I can do this,' he was suddenly over her, tumbling her down._

_'Wha... Jess!' _

_She couldn't continue because he engaged her mouth in a playful mid-laugh kiss. She responded eagerly, drawing the feeling of their lips together for as long as she could. _

_When they separated, she swatted his arm in mock reproach, met by a smirk. She took a bunch of hay straws and threw them at him. He was about to do the same when a few of the horses snorted. His hand froze and he strained to hear what had caused the noise._

_'Someone's coming,' he whispered._

_'Must be my father. Stay here,' she whispered back, leaning to peck him on the lips with a forefinger before his mouth.'And shush.'_

_Next thing she was out of their hiding place, taking the reins of her horse along before he had time to protest. _

_Then, _

_'Your Majesty! What a surprise to see you here,' said loud enough for Jess to hear. Making sure he stood exactly where he was.  
_

Ironically, what made the Queen so dear to her King, was her loving heart. When they first met, she was the face of love. Her love meant for someone else.

The Queen left the royal study, closing the door behind her.

King Rober watched her leave, wondering if all those memories his young Queen already had in her heart could ever be replaced by new ones, ones she hadn't experienced yet. So that he would no longer see their shadows in her eyes every time he looked at her.

He remembered that afternoon when he personally told Jess what that first acquaintance had felt like, three years ago. He had chosen the specific words with which he wanted to remember that day, and the confession that stood behind that excerpt from **the Chronicle** wasn't Jess'. It was her husband's. Rober had once told her that royals couldn't afford to fall in love. What he didn't tell her was that, had he a choice, he would take that risk. He would try to relive his life again because she made him feel like he really could.

* * *

Miles away, in another part of the kingdom,a very grumpy royal chronicler was trying to put a pair of pants on.

'You don't need to curse that much, do you?' Agnes (or_ annoying medicine woman_, as Jess called her mentally) scorned, walking into the room.

'Oh yes, I do,' Jess replied, successfully putting his good leg into the pants. He tried to bend the wounded one and hissed with pain, squeezing his eyes shut.

'Or you could stop being so dense and let me help you,' Agnes rolled her eyes while folding some dry sheets.

'I'm fine by myself thank you,' Jess dismissed her offer, biting on his lip as he managed to finally put both legs into the damn pants.

When he tried to stand up from the bed, he fell back down, which was followed by another succession of curses.

'When is my leg gonna stop hurting like hell?' he asked her, buttoning up.

She threw him a look, then shrugged.

'You're lucky you kept it at all.'

'Why, thank you,' he grumbled, reaching for his shirt and throwing it over his head.

Agnes put the folded sheet down and crossed her hands before her chest.

'You know what,' she started, obviously angered by his constant ranting, 'you would be dead by now if I had left your ungrateful ass to the wolves instead of saving it, so I would watch my tongue and start showin' some damn appreciation in your place.'

Jess stared at her for a while before he broke into a smile.

'You are a strange woman, you know that?' he asked.

She shook her head and headed for the door.

'Hey, Agnes,' he called after her.  
She turned, surprised to find him dead serious.

'Thank you.'

She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to decide if he was honest.

'There's soup for dinner,' she muttered, adding a 'Lilly will get you some,' before she walked out.

* * *

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

_**~ Against The Wind ~**_

Walking the dank hallways of the royal castle was a lone activity. Accompanied by an unpleasant silence. Words unsaid. Things undone. Promises unkept. There were so many, haunting those long stone corridors.

The Queen realized where she was only when she stopped in front of his door. The dark wood looked bluntly back and she felt a pang pull at her chest. A stupid sentiment she couldn't get rid of, every time she came here. How could this shabby closet-like room feel more like home than her royal boudoir filled with things she didn't really need?

She turned at a sudden sound, reverberating in the stone walls. No one was there. Only the wind howling.

_'Aren't you supposed to accompany your husband on his hunt, my lady?'_

_'Shut up and let me in, Jess.'_

_He stepped back, letting her in with a curious smirk._

_'Huh.'_

_'You've been writing,' she noted, her look skimming over the open books lying on his bed.  
_

_Jess folded his arms, raising an eyebrow._

_'Observant as ever, my Queen.'_

_'Cut the crap, Jess,' she sighed, 'I have to talk to you.'_

_'We're talking aren't we?'_

_'Jeez, you're impossible today, let me know when you're less of a jackass,' she shook her head and started to leave.  
_

_'Hey,' he stood in her way. She stopped in order to __not _ bump into him. 'Wait.'

_His hands found their place on her waist and he brought her closer. She sighed but let him._

_'Why do you always have to be difficult?' she mumbled._

_'So I can see that frown on your face more often,' Jess smirked, his lips only an inch from hers. 'I find it extremely entertaining.'_

_He liked to kiss her frowns away. If he started now, she would never say what she had come here to, so she went straight on to the matter.  
_

_'I'm pregnant.'_

_He froze. Time froze. The air between them crystalized and rearranged. Silence cut seconds away like ice.  
_

_She knew he was waiting for her to finish. She didn't. Finishing would mean telling him what nobody but the King and her knew._

_She watched as his eyes died. And she could feel it too - the realization, the painful reminder that what they were doing here was never gonna be even close to family. They were a joke. _

_No, Jess corrected himself, he was a joke._

_He made a step back, letting go of her. She didn't try to stop him. He had to think what he thought. In order to be able to survive through this whole mess and keep his head in the process. He had to think the child she was bearing was the King's and not his, because this kid would be nobody's son or daughter one day, but an heir to the throne. _

_She let Jess go out of the room and then out through the main gates of the castle, spurring his horse god knows where. Later on, she let him enter her boudoir in the dead of night, his eyes wild, his breath sour and his hands urgent. She didn't try to stop him when he moved over her, trying to claim what wasn't his. She didn't try to stop him when he got up, got dressed and left without a word afterwards. _

_You can't take back words you never said, she thought. And it was easier to deny the man she loved a son than to deny a kingdom its heir. Or at least she hoped so._

Rory rose her hand, ready to knock. She stood before the door, the brown of the wood making her head spin. She closed her eyes and it was still brown she saw.

What was she doing? God, she was standing before an empty room, ready to knock on a door that hadn't been unlocked for four months now. Thump. Thump. Like footsteps, her heartbeat raced trying to reach that place again. She was rushing forward trying desperately to go back. She was going crazy.

* * *

Agnes paused to give him a look, a pair of wet clothes in her hands.

'You okay to walk?' she frowned.

Jess dismissed her with a wave of his hand, continuing his limping round through the inn's yard.

'Peachy.'

'You could use the walking stick, you know,' Agnes said matter-of-factly, continuing to hang washing over the long rope that crossed the yard.

Jess gave her a look which she answered blatantly.

'Who's this?' Jess nodded towards a boy who was waving a wooden sword at the other end of the yard.

Agnes paused for a moment, as if debating with herself whether or not to answer.

'Sam. He's Lilly's brother,' she added after another moment's thought.

'It fights back?' Jess asked. The boy turned, startled by the older man's presence.

'The wind,' Jess continued, 'does it fight back?'

'Not really,' the boy shrugged. He was thirteen, fourteen at best. 'But I need to practice.'

'Reaping's coming,' he explained as he met Jess' questioning look. 'They'll come pick twenty boys and I'll be in the pile this time.'

'Aren't you a bit young to be in the pile?' Jess asked.

'They come and pick anyone who's turned fourteen. It's been like this since last year. King's order.'

Jess felt his jaw clench. This was insane. Those boys could hardly keep their swords steady in their hands, let alone fight for their lives and guard their kingdom. Taking those children into the army was pointless. Oh, but it wasn't, a cruel voice in Jess' head reminded. Because those boys were time-winners. Pawns that had to be turned down in order to get closer to the real soldiers. And this - this won time. The King must've thought about this when he signed that order one year ago. And those boys knew it, too. At least Sam did, Jess thought. Sam knew that, was he reaped this year, he was as good as dead. He didn't want to die without a fight, though. That was why he was waving his wooden sword against the wind.

This was the first of many occasions when Jess would wonder if the conspirators truly had a point, wanting the King down. Right now, he felt the same way.

'Need a sparring partner?' Jess asked, taking a wooden stick from the pile beside him.

* * *

**TBC**


End file.
